


Shape Shifting

by indfirol



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Dog Fighting, Drug Use, Hydra (Marvel), LGBTQ Character, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-15 20:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18506896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indfirol/pseuds/indfirol
Summary: Steve is an investigator. He's working on a case with his team to take down an underground dog fighting club called HYDRA. HYDRA kidnaps women, men, and children, and injects them with a serum that allows them to shape shift into dogs, battling them for profit. His childhood friend happens to be one of them.





	1. Memory Log: 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story does depict abuse and drug use, as well as memory loss and mental illness, possible mentions of suicide.  
> NOTE: This is not a story about furries, just putting that out there now, sorry fam.  
> This is pre-serum!Steve Rogers, set in the modern world where no one has superhuman abilities other than the infected HYDRA victims.

Bucky was uncertain. He lay on the freezing concrete floor beneath his cot, the cold burning his skin. The singular object in his hands could end his life if discovered, but he was willing to take that risk. It's not like he really had anything to lose. With hesitance he reached out and stroked the spine, the faux brown leather soft and weathered beneath his fingertips. He wasn't sure if he could read or write anymore, it's been too long since he's even held a pen. 

Though the cells only had a small window, merely three inches in height and eight inches in length, and a heavy steel door, it was still far too risky to possess. Bucky learned long ago that there were no cameras in the cells, but someone stepping in at the wrong time was all it took to get him executed. 

The journal was small, but hopefully big enough to say what he wanted said. An autobiography if you will, if anybody ever finds him. Even if it's only the journal that's found, he wants everybody to know the pain he's endured, and the trials he's faced, but know that even after all of that, there was always a sliver of hope left. After nearly fifteen years of this he still had hope. Besides, writing would help him stay steady, he thought. A place like this could make you forget who you really are.

He'd found it beneath a collapsible chair after that night's match, along with a pen and a gum wrapper. The dogs weren't allowed to take anything they found during clean-up, but some undeniable force led him to do so. Pierce would have his head if he knew. 

Bucky flipped the cover to the first page, noticing it had already been written in. Notes of different dogs and their skills were noted in cat-scratch handwriting. His name flashed up at him like a beacon in the fog, along with a comment about his thigh injury. The thought made his wound throb and he touched the bandage delicately, bruised beneath his palm. "Winter Soldier, 28, bit on thigh and bleeding badly. Continued fight and won."

Despite the nagging voice in his head pleading for him to tear it out, he left it alone. He turned to the next page and clicked the pen, praying to whatever sick bastard of a god that it worked. Before he could take a moment to think, he already knew what he was going to write about. It was an old memory, one that he thought about every night, among others. Of his life before HYDRA. Bucky listened for steps before pressing the tip to the paper.

**Memory Log- 1**

_Girls used to laugh at everything I said. Not in the mean way but because they thought I was funny, I think. I had a friend, his name was Steve. The girls and boys always laughed at him in the mean way, always trying to pick a fight with him over nothing. He was skinny, always sick and never really came outside for recess. I think that's why they made fun of him so much._

_I remember his cry like it was yesterday, slow to start but louder as it grew. Everyone laughed at the snot and tears running down his face, like some kind of sociopathic monsters. Like how it is here, crowds cheering and yelling as we tear each other apart._

_His knees were scraped and bleeding, Johnny Cruz standing behind him with his friends, snickering and mock crying. Why couldn't kids just be nice? Everyone has time to be an asshole when they grow up but enjoy childhood while you have it. I didn't get to enjoy mine and children take it for granted._

_"Hey, hey, it's gonna be alright, let's get you up. Ready?" Those are the exact words I'd said._

_"Are you a little girl, Steve? Wah Wah Wah."_

_"Shut up, you morons! He's bleeding!"_

_In the nurses office he was given cool superhero bandaids, which seemed to cheer him up a bit. It was Johnny who pushed him, he'd told me. His mother suggested he get more sunshine so he went outside, and that's when they targeted him._

_I remember the feeling in my knuckles when I'd punched Johnny. I waited for him by the buses and didn't give him nearly as much as he deserved for touching my Steve. Kids weren't laughing then._


	2. SHIELD

**7:08 AM, New York, NY. SHIELD Police Department.**

Steve's coffee was piping hot, searing his fingers through the cheap Styrofoam. He sat reclined in his chair with his legs propped up on his oak desk, scattered with files of all different kinds. He'd been there all night with not even a wink of sleep. This case was just too important, and he didn't have time for such luxuries. He honestly couldn't tell you how his colleagues slept at night with all the fucked up things they've seen this year alone. 

HYDRA was an underground dog fighting club. Most locations are unknown, thought they spread all over the country. They kidnap men, women, and children, and inject them with a serum perfected years ago. The serum was highly illegal and banned in every country, but HYDRA had their own scientists, their own strands. The serum alters a person's genes, allowing them to shape shift into any animal they desired. Each strand had been narrowed down to specific animals, this one pertaining to dogs. Therianthropy they called it.

Some victims would talk after being saved. Others were too terrified. Steve always assured them that anything they said would never reach the wrong ears but some didn't want to take that chance.

The records held information about the dogs they'd managed to save so far. Baron Davis, 32, code name: Titanic. He'd been returned to his family after receiving necessary medical treatment. Julie Monroe, 17, code name: Marilyn. She'd been in HYDRA's system for three years before she was saved. Benson Grandfield, 57, code name: Tank Master. He had a broken hip and rheumatoid arthritis, yet he still fought. He didn't have another choice. Kill or be killed.

Every single dog had been questioned. Who was their owner, who were the higher-ups, who organized the fights, Where are other victims located? The dogs spilled what they could and went on to find a new life. SHIELD had even set up a program for dogs who had nowhere to go, especially the ones fighting addiction. Providing food and water, toiletries, clothes and sometimes money. It provided housing and on-site counseling, along with job search information.

The one thing that stuck out to Steve the most was their addictions. Every single one of them had heroin or methamphetamine in their systems. The only plausible explanation for that Steve could think of was to keep them loyal. They'd do whatever they were ordered just for another fix.

Steve's eyes drooped, his lids feeling heavier and heavier by the second.

"Dude, seriously?"

Steve snapped to attention as Tony sauntered over, as energetic as always. His shirt was neatly pressed, free of any wrinkles, and he wore an expression of concern. "Another all-nighter? You can't keep doing this to yourself, Steve. You need sleep just like everyone else."

"I know..." He groaned, taking another sip of his coffee. "I just want this to end. It's horrible-- and it doesn't seem like anyone is putting in much effort."

"You know we're trying the hardest we can. I'm just being honest here, but it's impossible to take down a nation wide organization in one night. And did you know it's now spreading  _world_ wide? Reports have come in from Germany. We're trying, Steve, you have to believe me."

"It's not enough."

"It's the best we can do. We need more people. Every station in the country is on this case and we're still falling behind."

The station was buzzing with people. It was the largest in New York, and even at seven in the morning it was bursting with life.

Tony sighed and snatched Steve's coffee from his hand, taking a long gulp. A telephone rang somewhere and it pierced Steve's ears. Tony set the coffee on the table and crouched down in a sitting position, bouncing on his toes. "Go home, Steve."

"But I have so much to--"

"Go home. You don't need to do everyone's jobs for them. You need rest if you want to stay sharp on this case. And a shower, dear Lord." He wrinkled his nose playfully.

Steve rolled his eyes and stood, his joints popping like the snap of twenty twigs at once. He began to organize the files on his desk to keep them tidy when Tony put a hand down to stop him. "I've got this, you go."

He hesitated, then grabbed his coat. "I really don't think I should."

"Well, you don't really have another option. As your superior I'm sending you home."

Steve sighed and stalked away, his legs aching from sitting for so long. He made his way through the field of desks and cubicles.

"And where do you think you're going? You just got here."

Natasha came striding through the door, already reading a file of some kind. Her striking red hair bounced with the same energy as a kid on a trampoline, falling around her face as she read. 

"Home."

She stared at him, blank expression. "Steve, you didn't."

"I did. Sorry."

She smacked his arm with the folder. "Stop doing that! It's not good for you."

"Save it, I already got the whole lecture from Tony. I'm going home, I'll talk to you tomorrow." He rubbed his sore arm.

"You know Fury is getting upset. He's this close to suspending you for how much you break the rules. You  _have_  to go home when your shift is over. you take way too much overtime and you're going to run us into the ground.

"I think the biggest police department in New York can afford to pay me for my overtime." He said with confidence, though his stomach lurched at the thought of being suspended.

"Still! That's not the point here. You can't outwork everyone else, the weight of the entire station doesn't lie on your shoulders. I think Fury is more concerned about your health than anything, he probably wants to give you a break."

"I can't do that. I can't take a break."

"Then stop doing this to yourself."

He nodded slowly and squeezed past her, and out the door.

Steve's motorcycle was propped in it's usual parking space, gleaming in the early morning sun. He fastened the helmet on his head and hopped on, holding the choke and kicking the motor to life. The drive to his apartment was only a few minutes, save for the early morning traffic, but he barely remembered a thing. There were a couple close calls where he stopped too suddenly behind a car, not realizing how close he really was. He was too tired to drive, but he'd never admit that.

He pulled the bike into an alleyway and killed the engine. He let out a shaky breath, glad he'd made it home alive. The climb up four flights of stairs seemed far longer than usual, and his legs screamed at him to take a break. 'Just sleep on the stairs' they said. It was times like these Steve wished he could afford an apartment building with an elevator. His hands shook from exhaustion as he struggled to get the key into the lock. He finally got it open and trudged to his room, not even bothering to take off his coat and shoes. 

His rock-hard, spring filled, broken mattress felt better than he'd ever imagined as he fell face first into his pillow. His body sank in, stretching out all his joints, and he let out a shaky breath from the strain. 

 

**7:52 PM, New York, NY. Steve's Apartment.**

Steve's eyes pried themselves open to the sound of his cellphone ringing. The high pitched chimes pierced into his skull and he groaned. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he had the weirdest dream. He rolled over and fished the phone out of his pocket, Tony's name displayed on the screen.

"Hello?" His voice came out groggy and he cleared his throat. 

"Hey! How'd you sleep?"

"Pretty well... What time is it?"

"Almost eight," Tony chuckled on the other end. "I was going to invite you to drinks tonight if you're feeling better, it's been a minute, y'know?" 

Steve exhaled through his nose and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "I suppose so, yeah. I'm feeling pretty good-- I'll go. Just give me time to shower."

"Great! I'll pick you up at nine."

He hung up before Steve could reply.

Steve dropped his phone beside him and stared at the ceiling. Images from his dream flickered before his eyes and he saw a boy. Bucky, his name was. Bucky Barnes. His name was actually James but he always hated it, thought it was too proper. His hair was dark and messy, always sticking up from his head in all different directions. It took excessive amounts of hair gel to get it to look even  _half_ decent. And  his eyes were always bright, the color hazel. There was never a day he wasn't happy. 

His chest tightened a bit. Bucky was his only friend. For three years they were inseparable. From fifth grade to seventh, they never spent a day apart, even when Steve was home sick. Bucky used to ditch school and climb the fire escape to get into Steve's apartment, spending the day with him until his mom got home, then he'd have to sneak out again. 

Steve turned to look at his bedside table. There sat a small wooden box, stars and moons burned into the sides with a pyrography pen Bucky had used in wood shop. It was a gift for Steve, when he'd been hospitalized for a week with pneumonia. They used to play war, pretending they were fighting Nazis in World War II together, and they'd made a little saying as a pact that they used in the game. That saying was engraved on the lid with a smiley face at the end.

"I'm with you 'til the end of the line." Steve murmured, running his thumb along the words, feeling their grooves. He opened the box, gazing at his emergency inhaler and spare EpiPen. He hadn't used either in over a year, but they sat at the ready just in case. 

One day Steve didn't see Bucky on the bus. He wasn't at school either, and Steve thought he was probably just sick. After school he'd gone to Bucky's house to visit him and the whole family was gone. 

He never saw Bucky again. 

As an adult he'd tried to find him on social media, tried to get in contact, but there was no trace of him. 

Steve sat up and set the box back in its place. His muscles ached, and his neck had a kink from sleeping wrong. He frowned and rubbed at it tenderly. His bathroom light was blinding when he flicked on the switch, and he regretted investing in LED light bulbs. Every time he looked in the mirror he looked less and less healthy; his cheeks sunk in and the bags beneath his eyes could carry his groceries. He was short, only five-foot-four, but he had gained a bit of muscle since joining the police force. He didn't look like he starved anymore. He'd outgrown most of his health problems in high school, but he still took a plethora of vitamins to keep him in decent condition. 

His doctor hated the idea of Steve joining the police academy. She didn't think he was in good enough health for that. Steve proved her wrong and excelled in the academy. He wasn't nearly as tall or strong as the rest of his peers but he was a quick thinker, and he pushed himself to the limits to succeed. His efforts paid off, and he received an award as top of his class.

He stripped of his clothing and started the shower, waiting for the water to heat up before stepping in. It was warm on his hand but it scorched his skin as it rained down his back. Steve always liked his showers at boiling temperatures. His sleepiness washed away with the shampoo in his hair and the steam relaxed him of his worries. The emptiness in his stomach lured him out of the shower, he hadn't eaten since yesterday, he realized. Steve threw on a random T-shirt and one of his two pairs of jeans, then clipped his holster to his belt. The shirt concealed it well.

The chinese in his fridge had been there for about three days, but Steve decided that was probably fine and tossed it in the microwave. He flicked on the TV and South Park was on. He always found it vulgar, but secretly enjoyed it. The clock read 8:38, so Steve ran back to the bathroom and put gel in his hair, since he had time. Sometimes he liked to look presentable.

The microwave beeped and the smell immediately drew him back to the kitchen. He didn't wait for it to cool and shoved the chicken into his mouth, he was too hungry for that. He savored the taste and moaned out a low "Oh my  _Gooood_ this is so good."

Steve took the box to the living room and sank into the couch. On TV Tweek was freaking out about something the president had tweeted, and Craig was there with him. Steve stopped chewing when he heard them talking, it was something Craig had said. He turned up the volume and heard him say it again. He called Tweek "honey". He was comforting him, and offered to take him somewhere fun to take his mind off everything and Steve's heart beat faster.

Were they...  _boyfriends_? 

He was excited, he was very excited. Gay representation in the media always did that. 

_Knock knock knock_

Steve tore his eyes away from the TV and read the clock. It was only 8:45, Tony shouldn't be here yet.

He turned down the TV and crept to the kitchen, grabbing a knife off the counter. His team had been digging a little too deep into HYDRA's business, and he didn't want to take any chances with random visitors. 

He unlocked the door and cracked it open, enough to see into the hallway. No one, but there was a package on the floor. He stared at it carefully, thinking it may be a bomb or gas him if he opened it, then he noticed it said Amazon on the side and relaxed. He'd ordered a new set of pans for his kitchen. Steve was a little paranoid, he would admit. 

Steve set down the knife and hauled the box into the living room.

A voice came from the doorway. "Delivery for Cap."

Steve swerved and reached for the knife again, but it was just Tony.

"Dude, were you going to pull a knife on me?"

"No."

" _Yes_! You totally reached for it!"

Steve stumbled on his words and touched the box. "I was just going to open this box, no big deal. Why are you here so early?"

"I knew you'd be ready before nine, you've always been punctual. Is that South Park?"

Steve grabbed the remote and turned it off. "It was just on for background noise."

"I doubt that, I didn't know you were into such fucked up shows."

"I'm n-not."

"Whatever. You ready, Cap?"

Steve thought about Craig and Tweek again and smiled. "Ready when you are."

 


End file.
